


Something Borrowed

by BoxWineConfessions



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Both isabella and JJ are cheating on each other with Otabek, F/M, Infidelity, morally grey Otabek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 15:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11383248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: Nervous about their upcoming nuptials, both Isabella and Jean take comfort in Otabek. Otabek finds the experience neither cathartic or therapeutic, but he keeps coming back to both of them time and time again.





	Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cynx_17_kh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynx_17_kh/gifts), [sisaboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisaboo/gifts).



Otabek rests his hand upon the cold wrought iron of the balcony. The city is still enveloped by fog, which will clear away within an hour or, so that there’s nothing left in the city except for the warmth and invitation of a mild Qubec summer day. Her apartment overlooked the river, and well, seeing it made him feel nostalgic.

It made him remember long afternoons down at the river riding their bikes, and chasing them across the banks on foot. It made him remember turning their pockets inside out for soda or ice cream. It made him recall cramming into the Leroy’s van on Friday evenings, wedged between the two of them, alongside the other three Leroy children.  They’d fish, and they’d kayak, and burn anything they could get their hands on over the campfire. It makes him of all the time that he considered this city, and both of them, home. 

* * *

“Are you excited?” Otabek asks her in between shading in abstract doodles on his notebook page. He’s not good at this, and he’s all but given up on this grading period. If he squeaks by with a D+ he’ll avoid summer school at the very least.

“Uhm,” Isabella looks up from her own books. Her glasses are smudged so badly, that he wonders how she can see anything at all. “Well, I’m worried. What if he tries to kiss me?”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I’ve never been kissed before Otabek. What if I mess up?”

“Would you like to practice?” He adds quickly, “so it’s good for both of you?”

“Okay,” she agrees, and he can’t believe that it actually works.

He presses their lips together, and their teeth clack on their way in. He kisses Isabella until the cherry red lipstick is smeared across both of their faces and his collar. He kisses her until he can feel her chapped lips underneath.

* * *

“This is why you didn’t pass chemistry last semester,” Isabella whispers. They sit beside one another in a single rickety library carrel.

“I have a bad tutor?” He smirks.

Jean is a grade ahead of them, a graduating senior, which means all his exams were held earlier in the week to accommodate graduation. It’s just the two of them in the library. Quite literally, they are the only two souls in the library. It’s just past midnight, and Isabella is allowed access because she is an honors student.

By now, almost everyone in school has heard about Isabella and Jean’s “agreement” to stay celibate until marriage. Due to Jean’s enormous popularity with the girls, rumors swirled immediately that _she_ demanded it, or that _she_ was frigid.

Only the three of them knew the truth. Only Otabek knew for a fact how warm and inviting Isabella could be. If they could see her now, red faced and flushed. Otabek rucked up her skirt underneath the low library table. He runs his thumb in a circle across her knee. It catches and it drags against her nylon stockings. He moves his hands further up her thighs, and she squeals in response.

Isabella leans over, crossing the invisible line that separated her half of the table from his own. She tilts his chin slightly, and slots her lips against his just right. She tastes like the salt and vinegar chips that she just inhaled. Nothing about this should be sexy. They’ve been here for twelve hours, both of them desperately need a shower, and yet the simple action makes Otabek impossibly hard immediately.

In the stacks, he pulls her pantyhose down, and fingers her until her knees are weak. Then, she drops to her knees and takes him in her mouth all at once. Afterwards, she demands that they go back to studying as if nothing happened at all.

* * *

The second weekend of every July they all load up into the Leroy’s van and go camping. Jean and Otabek get their own tent. Isabella is crammed in with the girls, and then Mr. and Mrs. Leroy in the third tent.

It’s the day before Jean’s 18th birthday. Everyone else has gone to bed, and the campsite is dead quiet. Jean tosses and turns next to him, unable to sleep. Otabek doesn’t blame him. The air is thick and hot. The ground is uncomfortable.

“You awake?”

“Yeah,” Otabek responds.

“Have you ever had sex?”

Otabek swallows thickly. Can he count what he does with Isabella as sex? They don’t talk about it much: if it’s wrong, or if it’s sex, or if it means anything. Isabella is pretty, but they don’t have much in common. He lives at the rink, and likes to work on anything that he can get his hands on: dirt bikes, motorcycles, cars. The Leroy’s stove broke last January, and the jumped at the chance to take it apart.

Isabella on the other hand, spends her days in honors classes. She’s studying for college entrance exams. She takes Chinese courses after school, because her parents want her to know more about their culture. She gets confused using the washing machine, but gets 100% on her weekly lab reports. She takes general education classes at community college.

Otabek only put the moves on her because JJ had asked her out. He wanted something before Jean got it. He got so many things first: first Junior medal, first sponsorship offer, first girlfriend. But everything that happened with Isabella happened before it happened with Jean. Jean wanted to wait until marriage; Isabella did not.

“Yes,” Otabek finally says.

“Like all the way?” Leroy responds. Otabek can feel him shift next to him in the tent.

“No,” Otabek confesses.

“How far?” There’s a rustle of fabric next to him. He could easily tell Leroy to stop. He’d listen. He’d feel embarrassed, and Otabek would have to comfort him, but he’d stop. Except.

Otabek’s cock twitches beneath his shorts. He pulls it over the waistband, and gives himself a pump.

“I got a blowjob,” he almost adds, “in the library,” but that would be too obvious. “Before finals. She said my jacket was cool. She said that she liked me.”

“That’s awesome,” Leroy stutters. “What did it feel like?”

Otabek closes his eyes and grits his teeth. He’s touched himself to the memory countless times. He’s not used to all the talking. Still, he’s not sure if Leroy’s questions are off-putting, or if they drag him dangerously close to the cup of orgasm with every syllable.

“Soft, Jean. So soft.” He adds, “wet too.”

“Duh.” Jean scoffs beside him. The sound of skin against skin doesn’t stop though.

“You’re the one that’s never-“

“Keep talking,” Jean insists.

“She used her tongue on this spot on my head Jean. It was so good. So much better than our hands and-”

Jean makes a pained and undignified sound next to him. Then, there’s a large strong hand wrapped around his own cock. Otabek regrettably lasts three pumps before he’s coming into Leory’s hand.

* * *

“Congratulations,” Otabek says it with a smirk. She’s probably going to slap him in the face and leave his hotel room, but he doesn’t particularly care. He’s had a less than stellar evening. He’s distinctly aware that Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t owe him a goddamn thing, but he doesn’t take gloves off with his mouth for just _anyone_.

“Shut up Otabek,” but she does it herself, pressing her lips to his own. She’s aggressive, backing him up against the wall and biting his lower lip. She demands to deepen the kiss and pushes against him until he yields, and allows her deeper entrance to her mouth. “He still won’t fuck me.” She says when their lips part with a sticky pop. “I know it’s for a reason. I know it’s a good reason. I respect it, but…” She deflates against him.

Otabek draws her up close. He understands. Not outright rejection, but not the outcome that was _wanted_ , the outcome that made her feel less than _wanted._ He feels trapped in that kind of place with Yuri. He kisses her this time, its softer than her initial kiss. He runs his tongue along the roof of her mouth, and doesn’t relent until she’s relaxed against him.

“It’s just that, since he got third, he wants a long engagement,” to which Otabek has a hard time being sympathetic. “He wants to wait until next season, so that he can win everything.”

Otabek doesn’t respond. If she wanted someone to console her with words, she would be elsewhere. Instead, Otabek tears off her pantyhose, and her little lace underpants too. He gets down on his knees, and licks against her folds until she’s begging for more. So he gives it to her. He enters her slowly. He’d always heard that it hurt for girls their first time, but Isabella rocks greedily against him, and murmurs into his ear a constant chant of, “more Beka, more,” which shoots straight to his cock. He can do nothing other than give her exactly what she wants.

Sex makes Otabek’s brain stupid. He’d always hoped that the first person he went all the way with would be special. Maybe, Yuri. It makes him realized how lonely the last year has been in Almaty. He’d love nothing more than to go back to the days of the and Jean jerking each other off in a stifling hot tent, or fingering Isabella in the stacks.

 “I’ve always liked you,” Otabek swallows thickly. It’s almost the truth. He likes the way her skin gets red if she has so much as a sip of alcohol. He likes the thin frame of her body. He likes the fact that she belongs to Jean. He likes the fact that she comes to him for this, and that now he’s her first everything.

Luckily, Isabella is a terrifyingly smart girl. She ignores him outright at first, opting to shower. Then, he watches Isabella go through the motions of getting ready. She hooks her bra in the front and turns it around. She finds her underwear at the foot of the bed, and deciding that they’re ruined, shoves them in the trashcan by his desk.

Otabek wonders if he too should dress. If he should walk her to the door. It’s hard to move right now, when he believes that she should still be naked and in bed with him. He hasn’t stopped hurting yet. So she should still be hurting too. Right?

Isabella rolls her eyes at him. “Really?” She buttons her cardigan with her left hand. Her engagement ring shimmers, even in the faint light of the hotel room. She doesn’t believe it for a minute, and for that Otabek is grateful. “JJ made dinner reservations. I have to go.”

* * *

In the present, Otabek stands on the balcony of her apartment. The hand that isn't resting on the railing struggles to balance an awkwardly large coffee cup in his hand against the railing. He supposes that pre-med did that to people. Made them inhale caffeine at near deadly rates.

Otabek can remember when she wouldn’t even drink tea, but things have changed.

“Beka,” there’s a call from inside her room. “I need a cuddle.”

Except, it was never just a cuddle. Otabek opens the sliding glass door, ducks inside. She’s sitting, and her long nails are wrapped around her own comically large coffee mug.  She doesn’t struggle to balance it in her grasp. She sips from it gingerly. Her reading glasses are on, and although it is not yet six in the morning, and certainly not a day for her studies, there are printed journal articles, some bound together with a staple and others loose pages scattered about the bed. The television is on low volume. It’s a cooking show, and the chef is showing how to make vegetable tempura. Otabek finds this humorous. The only thing that Isabella can cook is frozen waffles, and even that has ample opportunities to go awry. He can remember one time last fall when he came to meet with his choreographer. The toaster caught on fire, and they had to evacuate the whole complex. Jean had been out of town doing a show with his band, and so she called him crying.

“Are you wearing lipstick?” It’s very Isabella, dark circles under her eyes, and uncontrolled chaos spilling out around her, but cherry red lipstick perfect nonetheless.

“I felt naked,” she leans forward as she speaks. She’s wearing his v-neck, and the motion exposes her chest and nothing else.

Otabek crawls into bed beside her. He peels the shirt away, removes her reading glasses, sets them onto the nightstand, and latches onto her neck.

“Beka,”

“Bella,”

“Stop it,” she hits playfully against his chest. “No marks.”

Otabek trails his hands down her chest, across the flat of her stomach, and rests both of them softly on her mound. He wonders, how she’ll explain how easily her body yields to him. Will she simply say that she’s already waited for so long? What about when she takes his cock between her cherry red lips.

Otabek moves down her body. He takes a nipple into his mouth. Instantly it perks against his tongue and hardens. He alternates between soft laps, and more abrasive nips.

He pets her folds gently, up and down, and up and down until she’s squirming and kicking beneath him. Only then does he sink a finger inside. Will Jean be this gentle with her? Will he do everything in his power to make her feel good?

Otabek inserts another finger, and then crooks them just so. He moves to kiss her, and swallow up the moan that falls out of her mouth.

Knowing Jean, he’s read all about it. He’s got a mental list of everything that he wants to do tonight, and the next night, and the night after. Knowing that he’ll not only rival Otabek in his ability to please Isabella, but eventually surpass him, spurns him on in the worst kind of way.

He scissors his fingers wider, kisses her harder, presses up against her thigh, but never moves to thrust inside of her.

“Please,” she moans into his shoulder. “Please.”

“Please what?”

He pulls away slightly, so that he can look into her eyes. Her pupils are blown wide, her eyes are glassy. Her jaw is set in determination, but not for a moment does she look remorseful. “Get inside of me.”

But Otabek won’t let go of the strange and possessive drive that keeps him coming back to Isabella time and time again. The notion that something in this world belongs to him is comforting. The idea that the ownership is fleeting, almost ended, makes his chest tighten in anxiety.

He lines himself up, presses in, but just barely. She cants her hips upward in an attempt to completely envelop him in her tight wet heat.

He responds simply by holding her wrists firmly against the mattress. “Say my name Isabella.”

“Otabek.”

He thrusts inside finally.

She wraps her legs around his waist and pushes him in deeper. “Otabek,” she repeats. Over, and over, and over again, “Otabek,” until she’s clenching him tight, and her heels dig into his back, and it’s clear that he’s sent her over the edge.

Otabek doesn’t last long after that. She’s impossibly sensitive after she comes, and whimpers at even the simplest of movements, and although he’d love to do nothing more than to sink into her tight wet heat over, and over again, his vision has started to tunnel, his body tensed. He’s beyond the point of no return, and he relishes it. His cock twitches deep inside of her. He steals another kiss while their bodies are still joined.

Afterward, Otabek showers, puts on yesterday’s jeans wondering if Jean has any clothes over here which he could steal. He passes her wedding dress rests on a mannequin in the center of the spare bedroom. Jean and Isabella went to Paris together to get a matching wedding set from the best designer. Otabek knows this, because as best man, he was expected to attend one of these fittings, and get fitted for a tuxedo himself.  

Otabek wanders into the spare room with a towel slung around his shoulder. He runs his fingers across the intricate embroidery, and the numerous beads which dot the bustle. In just a few hours’ time, he’ll pour himself into his own tuxedo, and stand at Jean’s side as his best man.

Otabek returns to Isabella’s room, she’s typing away at her phone at a rapid fire pace. The “sent” sound bursts forth from the phones speakers six times while he roots around the top drawer of her dresser, and finds a plain t-shirt. It’s a size too large for him, but it’s clean.

“By the way.” She doesn’t put her phone down for a moment, but she does look at him over the ridge with a furrowed brow. “I told you last night not to come in me.” She punctuates the statement with, “asshole.”

That’s right. She went off her medication because of the wedding. Jean wanted to conceive on their honeymoon. “Sorry,” he says in a noncommittal tone. He extracts his black plastic comb from his pocket, and stands in front of the full body mirror by her dresser. He slicks his hair back, but doesn’t have any styling wax with him. He’ll have to stop at his hotel before going to meet Jean. “Should we do anything about this?”

Now, her reflection stares daggers at him in the mirror. Silently, she tells him, “absolutely not.”

He disagrees, but he’ll keep his mouth shut. For her sake. For his sake. Although, it might do them both a bit of good in the end.

* * *

Otabek kick starts the bike and drives to mid-town. The streets are empty in the early morning hours. Nobody is at work, and nobody has risen yet to get breakfast at the numerous cafes and restaurants which line the tiny urban streets.

Otabek kills the bike a block away, and walks to the side door of the Leroy’s three story home. Although the family expects him, he still feels raw and exposed knocking on the front door at eight in the morning on Jean’s wedding day.

Jean all but shoves him inside and up the stairs to his room. Downstairs a commotion has already begun. Mrs. Leroy is yelling in broken French _something_ about Father Durand. It’s difficult for him to understand what exactly, his French is quite rusty.

“Thanks for coming,” Jean murmurs into his neck.

“Nervous?” Otabek’s hands slide around his waist.

“Yeah,” Jean admits. “Really nervous.”

Otabek’s hands slide to his front, and flick the button on Jean’s pants open easily. “Don’t be. You’ve wanted this for so long.” His mouth is hot and thick on Jean’s. He tastes like syrup and coffee, meaning he’s been up for some time too.

“You know I don’t do well under pressure,” he gasps. “This shirt looks familiar,” he says toying with the hem. “I guess I have one just like it.”

“Hm,” Otabek allows him to peel his shirt off. “Don’t be nervous. You know what you’re doing.” They’d been jerking each other off, and sucking each other off for years now but…It was only recently that they’d gone further. It was only after he and Isabella had gotten engaged that he asked for more.

Jean told Otabek in a low husky voice that he needed practice, that he wanted to stay pure for Isabella, but was unsure he could handle the pressure on his wedding night.

Otabek had no idea how taking his cock was going to help Jean please a woman, but he never refused him. He was so responsive. So tight, so wonderful.  In moments, Jean is stripped bare, and so is he. Jean is loose, as if he’d been playing with himself this morning, or maybe even the night before.

He kisses Otabek ferociously, and doesn’t stop for a moment.

“It’s okay Jean,” he says when he’s got Jean on his back legs thrown up over his shoulders. “It’s okay,” he reiterates when he’s buried deep inside his best friend. “She loves you. It’s okay.”

 


End file.
